Throwback Thursday

*A weekly post revisiting some of my previous fictional writing pieces from my old blog*

Hi all,

For any new readers out there that may not already know, I have recently jumped ship from my previous blog and am currently making a tentative home for myself here.

It’s different.

Blogger was like a rickety old cabin the woods, with uneven floorboards and lopsided furniture that smelt of damp. WordPress is more like a modern high-rise apartment. Everything is crisp and clean and there are state-of-the-art gadgets littered throughout the glass and marble rooms. The problem is, I have no idea what any of it does, and the glare from all the newness is almost blinding.

Change takes time to feel familiar.

Today, I am introducing the first of my new (and shiny) Throwback Thursday posts, which will be a series of creative writing posts lifted straight from my old blog and transplanted here for you all to read and enjoy again. What can I say, sometimes we need to take some familiar comforts with us when we move on, as a reminder of who we once were.


This Body

ImageI hate this body.

I feel like an animal trapped inside this bulging, pasty white flesh. I look down at its ugly nakedness and I want to claw at it, shed it like a skin; rip it from me until blood pulses out of me draining the liquid, pus-like fat from my thighs and hips.

This body is not of me.

It hides me, conceals me.

Suffocates me.

I hate this lack of control.

Like a drug addict I crave. I am a slave to every bite, every gulp. I give in and I hate it. I need the fix – the sugar, the bread, the act of bringing chunks of food to my mouth, barely chewing, and swallowing. Not enjoying. Just eating.

And then the disgust. The self-loathing as I stand naked and bloated in the mirror, spotty skin, frizzy mess.

This body wins.

I hides me, conceals me.

Protects me.

*originally published 13 April 2011


An Open Letter to Readers Old and New

Dear Readers,

There is not much you can do when the rot sets in.

It always starts off small at first, like a tiny patch of damp in the corner of your ceiling. It spreads slowly like a shadow, seeping into the tiny cracks of your own creation reaching down into the very foundation of the thing you love, where it festers and oozes and multiplies.

And you don’t notice the damage until it’s too late.

You try in vain to mend the brokenness. You cover the cracks, and wash off the dark stains that tarnish your beloved thing’s once pristine appearance. But these are only temporary measures, and the more repairs you make, the bigger the problem becomes, the faster the damp stain spreads, the deeper it goes and the more distorted and alien the thing becomes until you no longer recognise it as your own.

And suddenly, the thing you created one Saturday morning 3 years ago is no longer home, it no longer fulfills your needs. It no longer suits your purpose.

Because you’ve changed too.

It is time to cut the chord and move on, and I would love to take you all with me.

So, I hope you will find a new home here too.

Chat soon,